Permanent Scars

Seventeen

September 16, Sunday.
7:55 p.m.

Two pairs of sneakers touch down on the pavement, creating a natural rhythm as they kick up dead leaves and microscopic bits of gravel. I watch in interest as they fall into sync, a phenomenon so precise I'm tempted to say it's coincidence.

But I cannot use that word.

   The early autumn breeze tosses my hair around, whipping my bangs into my eyes. I was fighting the wind earlier, but soon gave up because no one ever fights the wind and succeeds. It's one of those laws of nature that you'd better just obey without thinking too much about.

   Shoving my hands deep into the hoodie's pockets and tucking my chin into the collar, I continue to watch our feet with interest. How they stay parallel in every way at all times. If my left foot touches down, his does too. I'm not sure if he's intentionally keeping pace, but if he is, kudos to him for such impeccable accuracy. I'm sure it can't be an easy feat to match the movements of another person's feet.

   Ha, that's punny.

"You're wearing my hoodie. I just noticed."

At his words, I snap my head up to look at him. The blue in his hair has faded drastically since we first met a couple weeks ago. He's carrying his guitar, and he's wearing a black slouchy beanie. The circles beneath his eyes are a bit darker, but maybe that's just because the sky is growing dark. Clouds overshadowed the sunset earlier, so we missed most of that. Still, it's a miracle it's not raining.

Looking down at the hoodie, which indeed belongs to him (I kept forgetting to give it back after the concert, plus he was being distant), I nod. "Yeah, it was just hanging off the back of my chair, so I grabbed it."

"It looks good on you."

I don't know how to respond to this. Every time he compliments, it catches me off guard. And then I don't know how to react. Having spent most of my life away from most people, I haven't really had to take compliments all that often. But with Adam around, it's like I have to be cautious in case he bestows one upon me. I can never win, though. I am never able to anticipate his remarks.

"You're welcome," he flashes me that saucy smirk, an obvious response to my reddened face. He pulls his left hand from the pocket of his jeans and pokes my nose lightly. Smirking again, hand retreating back into the pocket, he shakes his hair so I can't really see his face. I'm left catching my breath, feeling his touch on my nose, utterly puzzled. He's still acting weird, but then again he was never a normal boy to begin with.

   It's been a week since Adam's odd thing with Mia, a week since the vandals showed up at my house. I've been on edge, uneasy, but Adam has been cleaning up his act. I'm not sure if it's on his own volition, or if Dylan said something to him, but it's nice to have him almost back to whatever his brand of normal is. He surprised me by coming over earlier this evening. I had just finished supper and was going to settle down for a good read with Mackerel at my feet when he came knocking—a display that both scared and annoyed me, so I did what I do anytime someone shows up at the door: I hollered from upstairs. For a kid who spends most of his time listening to and making loud music, he's got amazing auditory senses and could hear me without hinderance. He hollered an answer, explaining that he wanted to go for a walk and told me to grab something warm cuz it's getting chilly. Hence the hoodie.

As it turns out, somehow he knew today is my birthday and he wanted to spend time with me because he felt it wasn't fair to have to spend a birthday alone. Being alone on my birthday is something I've grown used to in recent years, but I didn't tell him that and I didn't want to make him feel bad, so I agreed to the walk. We've been out for awhile, just walking around town silently, occasionally exchanging snippets of conversation.